by Linda Huber
‘Oh, love. But the place you’re staying – is it nice? Do you manage to get some sleep, at least?’
Nice was the overstatement of the decade. ‘It’s fine. But–’ Here goes. She had to tell them her marriage was over and she was moving back to London full stop.
Her parents listened as she told them how distant Ed was being and how unhelpful. Nicola’s heart was breaking as she spoke. Mum and Dad were old – well, Dad was, and at seventy-four her mother was no youngster – and she was offloading all this stress onto them. But she couldn’t not tell them.
‘It’s awful. I can’t believe we’re splitting up because Kelly’s–’ The word ‘gone’ stuck in her throat.
‘What does Ed say? Doesn’t he want to try again?’ Dad the ever-hopeful.
‘He said, “Do what you have to.” So I am. Basing myself in London permanently is by far the best way. I’ll be able to search for Kelly much more efficiently. I’ll need to get a part-time job, too.’
Money – or the lack of it – was turning into a real issue. She and Ed had always had separate bank accounts and that was fine as long as they were both working, but now she wasn’t. And the house belonged to Ed. They were going to need expensive divorce lawyers, but no time for all that while Kelly was missing.
Her father cleared his throat loudly. ‘We’ll help you with your rent and so on.’
‘Thanks, Dad. I might need help at first. But we have to face it, looking for Kelly could take longer than we’d like. But I’ll never give up. I’m aiming to be independent ASAP.’
The waiter appeared with the dessert menu, and Nicola leaned back. She didn’t want a pudding, but her mother was going to insist. She chose lemon meringue pie, and immediately closed her eyes. That Christmas years ago, when she and Kelly made one together, oh, the memory. Her mobile beeped in her bag, and she fumbled for it. Dorothy.
‘It’s my neighbour in St Ives; I’d better take it.’ She took the phone to the hallway, her heart pounding. The chances that this was about Kelly were miniscule, but the hope was always there, and with it the stress.
‘Nicola. Rob was speaking to Ed outside, and he had the feeling Ed hasn’t told you about Mia.’
Nicola sank down on a wooden chair between the ladies and the gents. Dorothy’s voice was almost unrecognisable – dear heavens, what had happened to Mia?
Chapter Fourteen
Thursday, 6th August
Rob barely slept all night. He dragged himself from bed on Thursday morning, leaving Phoebe in a restless doze. The coffee machine was rumbling downstairs; Mum was up too. He stumbled into the bathroom and leaned on the wash basin, then rinsed his face, shivering uncontrollably. All the search results yesterday had been negative, and the police thought Mia had been taken. Abducted. They even had a bloody Family Liaison Officer. This was real: it was happening.
Rob fell to his knees, arms circled round his twisting gut. It was almost twenty-four hours. What had his child gone through? Was she still alive? If he got hold of the pervert who’d taken his Mia, he would kill him. He had lost Jan. He couldn’t, he couldn’t lose Mia too.
The worst thing was, there was zilch he could do. The police were doing the searching, and nothing Rob had been told was giving him any hope at all. If Mia had been taken, it must have been by car. There would be no useful CCTV images, no people at stations or shops to have noticed that a small girl was with someone who didn’t look ‘right’. The police had questioned everyone in the other houses on Coast Road, and while some people had seen cars go up and down on Tuesday morning, nothing had struck anyone as unusual. Walkers drove down to the Coastal Path car park every day, and with six flats full of summer tourists on the street, there was a constant coming and going as they went to get fresh rolls for breakfast, set off on excursions, etc. No one had seen Mia. The police had cordoned off the top of Coast Road, to keep the bevy of reporters and media people at a distance.
Dorothy was hunched over a mug at the table, her hands trembling like an old lady’s. She gave Rob a hunted look. He grabbed a mug and slumped down beside her.
Dorothy’s mobile rang on the table and they both shot upright. She grabbed it. ‘Nicola?’
Rob leaned closer to hear what Nicola was about to say. Private calls in a family where a child had vanished weren’t a thing. Dorothy put the phone on speaker, and Nicola’s voice shook into the room.
‘Is there any news? I was thinking about you all night. I know this can’t be connected to Kelly’s disappearance, but – have the police said anything?’
Rob closed his eyes. She was right, it couldn’t be connected, but there was no hundred percent certainty, was there? He cleared his throat. ‘They don’t think there’s a connection, but I’ll ask again today.’ He rubbed his face with both hands, help me, help me. He couldn’t stand this, he literally could not… But Nicola was in the same hell. All he could hear on the phone was her breathing, ragged and swift. ‘I’ll let you know if we hear anything from the police, Nic. You have my number as well as Mum’s, don’t you?’
All this being rational and civilised, when all he wanted was to run out there – anywhere – and run and search and run until he found his child. He couldn’t do that, and it was killing him.
A car horn blared over Nicola’s voice saying goodbye. Heck, she was out on the street already.
Dorothy pushed the phone away. ‘I’ll scramble some eggs; we need to eat to be ready to – do anything.’
Rob’s stomach somersaulted at the mention of scrambled egg. He lurched to the back door, kicking one of Scout’s toys viciously to the side. If they hadn’t bought a dog he wouldn’t have gone to the vet’s on Tuesday, and Mia would be looking forward to another sunshiney day. Thank God a friend of Dorothy’s had offered to take the dog in the meantime, because Scout gambolling around here would have been unbearable.
Rob slumped into a chair on the patio, early-morning sunshine mocking his fear. The inspector yesterday had told them nine would be the best time to phone for an update. He glanced at his mobile – it was half seven.
Back in the kitchen, he pushed yellow lumps around his plate for five minutes before giving up. Waiting for nine o’clock… why nine? What were the police doing right this minute that they couldn’t tell a missing child’s father what was going on? Rob grabbed his phone, but sense took over before his fingers made the connection. Time spent talking to him was time away from the search for Mia. He should do this on their terms; if the police had anything to report, they’d do it. He flopped forward until his head was on the table, and Phoebe rubbed his back, saying nothing.
His phone shrilled in his hand, and Rob flipped it open.
‘Mr Gillan – Rob – a possible sighting of Mia near Hampstead Heath was sent in to our colleagues in London. They’re following it up now. I’ll get back to–’
Hope flared, piercing Rob’s soul as impatience surged. ‘Should I go up to London?’ If this was Mia, he had to be there.
‘No, there’s nothing you can do to help. Let us do our job. As we said yesterday, we’re likely to have a number of false alarms, so I’m asking you to stay calm. Our investigations here have had no results yet, but we’re checking CCTV at garages between here and London now. We may need you to look at these images later.’
Brief hope of something concrete to do was dashed. Rob remembered Nicola. ‘Do you think this might be connected to Kelly Seaton’s disappearance?’
‘There’s nothing whatsoever to make us think that. A sixteen-year-old who threatened many times to return to an area she knew well is a completely different scenario. Your Family Liaison Officer will be with you presently. You can talk more to him. I’ll be in touch.’
The connection broke. His mother was staring at him, her face white, and he grabbed her hand.
‘A possible sighting in London. They said we should stay here and wait for news.’
Dorothy slumped in her chair, and Rob put his arm around her. The wait had just got even worse.
&
nbsp; Kelly rose on one elbow and listened again. Something was moving around on the other side of the door; weird, muffled noises had been seeping into the dimness of the room at odd intervals since yesterday. Thuds and moans and scratches; it was spooky. She would fall asleep, and then more thuds would waken her, the sweat of fear chilling through her. This noise was new, and whatever it was, it was right on the other side of the door.
Okay. There was no such thing as ghosts – but it might be a cat? She pictured a tiger-striped bundle rubbing against her legs, then jumping up on her lap to be stroked and fussed over. How amazing that would be, the warmth of another creature next to her. She choked up as the usual white-hot rage and frustration flushed through her before helplessness flooded them out again. How would she ever get out of here? He could hold her here forever.
Knowing it was Dad who had done this made it all so much worse. It was hopeless. No one was going to find her here, wherever it was. Every two or three days the usual footsteps would come down the stairs, the door would open and a box would slide in.
Sometimes that was all that happened, and those were the good days. But more often he’d close the door all but a centimetre and whisper at her, over and over again, how weak she was and how pitiful and how nobody would come looking for her. And nobody had.
Kelly went over to the box of food by the toilet. It was nearly empty; he’d have to come soon or she’d die of starvation. Not that the boxes ever held much, it was always the same old stuff: bread or muesli bars, fruit and cold meat. Sometimes a carton of juice, and oh, for a nice glass bottle that she could crack him over the head with. But he was clever; he never came in. Kelly lifted the plastic bag of bread, pulled out the last slice, and chewed slowly. It was hard as toast and there was no juice left to make it more edible, just an apple. She went into the toilet and drank from cupped hands held under the trickling tap.
And there it was again. Scrape, scrape. She barked a laugh – was it a ghost? She was hearing things that didn’t exist. Wasn’t that what happened to people who were kept in solitary confinement? Thinking about long-ago history lessons was making her cry again. There was always, always a new thought to cry over and still the tears were for nothing.
The noise came again, and with it the usual footsteps. He was coming. Kelly cowered back on the mattress, clutching both knees to her chest, trying not to pant because that would show him her fear.
Silence for a moment, then the door slid open.
And a kid was shoved into the room. Kelly caught a glimpse of the figure behind the child, then the door was slammed shut again and they were left alone and holy shit it was Mia. The little girl looked around wildly, then shrieked and ran back to the door, pounding it with her fists.
‘Let me out, let me out! I’m sorry! Help!’
Kelly stumbled forward to grasp the child’s shoulder. ‘Mia – Mia! Shh! You’ll make him angry. I’m here!’
Mia leapt away, then stared incredulously and flung herself into Kelly’s arms, crying hysterically. ‘I want to go home! I want my dad!’
Kelly hugged her tightly. ‘I know. But please be quiet, believe me, you don’t want to make him angry.’ She pulled Mia over to the mattress, but before they could sit down the door opened again and a box of food slid in. Mia screamed.
‘Be quiet!’ The voice thundered round the room, and Mia’s sobs stopped abruptly. The door slammed shut again.
Kelly remained motionless until the footsteps had gone back up the stairs. How had Mia come to be in the cellar with her – and why? Was he planning on starting a harem? Hysterical laughter swelled in her throat, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek. They had to be quiet. He’d said so.
‘Come on. Let’s sit down, and you can tell me what’s happened. I can help you.’ Like hell she could, but there was no point saying that.
Chapter Fifteen
Friday, 7th August
A bell on the café door pinged as Nicola left. A quick coffee had become part of her morning routine; it gave her a break from walking around in the heat and – it just gave her a break. Ten-thirty, time for another couple of hours distributing flyers before lunch. Mum and Dad were doing their bit today too, handing out flyers. Yesterday they’d gone up and down the Embankment, and today they were targeting people doing city bus tours. Tourists were a group Nicola had never aimed her efforts at, but the more people who saw Kelly’s photo, the better. And still there was an insistent little voice in her head, telling her it was all hopeless. Kelly was gone.
Her phone buzzed while she was sorting out a new handful of flyers, and she grabbed it. A text from Sue. Nicola sent a quick reply, then tapped to connect to Rob. He’d called last night to say the police were following up a sighting of Mia near Hampstead Heath, and the wave of horror and pity and, admit it, jealousy that swept over Nicola had shocked her. All those weeks and never a hint of Kelly, and please God this child wasn’t Mia… Rob took the call, and Nicola turned into a deserted little square to talk in relative peace.
‘Rob – any news?’
‘None.’
And that one word held all the suffering that was etched on her soul too. His voice was raw as he continued, and Nicola pushed the emotion back. You had to hold it together to get stuff done.
Rob cleared his throat. ‘Nothing, since the original sighting, which might not even be her. It was two men and a girl going into Highgate cemetery, near Hampstead Heath.’
Nicola knew the one he meant. It was full of old, some very old graves, mostly neglected and overgrown with ivy, though here and there you saw a splash of colour where a rose bush defied the greenery or a bunch of flowers had been propped against a slanted, moss-covered headstone. Karl Marx was buried there.
And what could she say that would comfort Rob in any way? Nothing. Nicola clutched her phone with shaking fingers.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I have no idea.’ His voice broke. ‘I thought – I hoped – this was it and they would find her. I wanted to come here and take my little girl in my arms and carry her home again…’
Nicola’s heart ached for him. ‘There’s nothing I can say that will help you, but – the important thing is to hold it together. You can’t look for Mia the same way I can look for Kelly, but you can get on social media? Put out flyers. Make people aware of Mia. And hope with everything you have that someone will notice her.’
‘They’re organising media stuff for us. Phoebe works in advertising, so she has some contacts.’
‘Hang on in there, Rob. I’ll come over when I’m ho– back at the house next week.’
Rob was silent, and Nicola closed her eyes. ‘Next week’ was an eternity away when your child was missing.
Eventually he spoke. ‘I’ll see you soon, then.’
Nicola injected all the warmth she could find into her voice. ‘Don’t lose hope. And if there’s anything I can do for you here, ask.’
The connection broke, and Nicola dabbed her eyes. She could have genuine hope that Kelly was still alive and findable, even if it took weeks or months. Or years. But whoever had taken Mia was likely to have dark, perverted plans for the child. Nobody knew if there was still a Mia to find.
By ten that evening Nicola was back in her room, having said goodbye to her parents, who were leaving the following day. They’d insisted she didn’t see them off at King’s Cross.
‘It’s more important you get on with the search,’ said her mother. ‘We don’t have much luggage, and the case has wheels. We’ll manage, Nicky. Find Kelly.’
The mental picture of commuters sweeping around them, criss-crossing the mall to buy coffee and doughnuts and running for their trains while Mum and Dad headed doggedly, and no doubt way too early, to their platform brought a huge lump to Nicola’s throat, but she would allow them the independence, because they were right. The search was more important. Her life in London was a downward spiral – searching, finding nothing, growing ever more desperate – then she’d jerk back upwards i
n the spiral, only to start the fall anew. How long would she be able to keep this up? Kelly had been gone for six weeks already.
Her mobile buzzed while she was drinking her bedtime chamomile tea, which was supposed to decrease anxiety and help her sleep, but didn’t.
Deb Shipton’s voice spoke in her ear. ‘Thought I’d give you a call – is this a good time?’
‘Sure. Anything new? There’s nothing here.’
‘Not really – I supposed you’ve heard about the missing child belonging to your neighbours on Coast Road?’
Nicola filled her in on her call to Rob, and Deb sighed.
‘We’ve had a lot more traffic online since Mia disappeared. Harry Anderson’s been helping me moderate it, but none of it would be any use in finding Kelly.’
Nicola thought about the priest and his handful of flyers. ‘I guess more people than I know are helping. The hard bit is getting on with it every single day.’
They spoke for a few more minutes, then Deb rang off. Nicola hefted her phone. Talking to Deb was like tossing back a double G&T and an energy drink at the same time. She should use that strength for a chat about practicalities with her husband, soon-to-be-ex. They’d had no contact since the ‘Do what you like’ conversation. Nicola tapped connect, and listened to the phone ring five, six, seven times, then cut off. Ed’s loss.
